Faults in the Foundation
by celinenaville
Summary: Set in Season One. Dean is taken hostage by a demon, who isn't interested in hurting him, so much as toying with him like a cat would a mouse. She begins to pry into his deep-seated insecurities. Her words send Dean into a tail spin that he can't seem to pull out of on his own. Sam is at a loss as to how to get his brother to confide in him. Angst Winchester-style. *COMPLETED*
1. Chapter 1

*Trigger Warning* Dean is in a pretty compromising position here, but I don't take it much further than the show would. Just throwing in a heads up.

Dean Winchester groggily pulled against the bonds pinning him down. He lay on his stomach, head turned to the side, pinned at the wrists. He tried to pull his legs up under him and found that he couldn't. He kicked out slightly, trying to get a purchase on the ground he was lying on. The toe of his booted foot scraped impotently against the concrete as the rope around his ankles held tight.

"Shit." He said softly. His mind begin to assemble fragmented pieces of memories and, suddenly, he was wide awake. Aware and alert at a moment's notice as was his habit. _Man something tells me that this is going to suck unless I passed out in the middle of a bondage fantasy roleplay._ He tried to get a notion of where he was from what he could see. The blank space around him didn't tell him much. The set of shapely legs that stepped into his vision told him much more.

"Well well... my Winchester boy is awake." The voice was female, sensual and predatory.

His peripheral vision caught the rest of her. Blonde, beautiful, strikingly featured. She knelt lithely down next to him. "I hope you're comfortable."

"Oh yeah, face down on concrete is my preferred recreational position," he quipped. "Want to tell me why I'm here?"

"Sweetheart...sometimes when you hunt the Panther long enough, the Panther starts to hunt you."

"Wascally wabbit."

Red lips curved into an indulgent smile and she reached a hand out to gently trace along the line of his jaw. "So witty."

"Thanks," he said with a slight grin. "I try."

Her hand was warm as she laid it against the back of his neck. He flinched momentarily, a little afraid of what she may do to him. She chuckled. "Easy, Dean. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then what are we doing here?" he asked.

She moved out of his view and pressed her cheek to his ear. "Oh, I'm going to have some fun with you." She whispered, her breath hot against his skin. A chill ran up his spine. She made a swift motion to swing a leg over him and he felt her thighs settle on either side of his lower back as she straddled him. She leaned over and placed a surprisingly gentle hand in his shortly cropped hair.

"Is this supposed to intimidate me because its not working."

"Oh, _Dean_ ," She said throatily, "Poor, simple Dean."

She leaned over and he felt her mouth close gently over the exposed nape of his neck. He involuntarily gasped and pulled against his restraints. She grazed has skin with her teeth and tongue. "I'm not trying to intimidate you," she whispered. "I'm trying to confuse you."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Okay, that's working."

"I'm trying to get into the little cracks of your psyche and play there." She wedged her knee between his thighs and pushed up. "Play there until I _force_ those cracks to _widen_." She pushed up again, forcing his thighs little wider though he didn't have much play against the ropes.

Dean groaned. He balled his fists and felt his respiration quicken. He didn't know what to think, torn between repulsion and some weird pleasure.

Her knee lingered between his thighs for a moment longer and then the pressure disappeared and she was straddling him again. "Because that's the fun part. You're such an easy target. Your brother has one weakness- _you_. But you, Dean. Oh, there are so many cracks in your foundation it's hard to know where to begin."

She sank her fingers into his broad shoulders and began to knead the muscles there. He was as tense as a steel beam, primed to fight or flee. "You see that's the problem with being broken from such a young age... your entire foundation is off. It's like building a brick house on top of a weak foundation. At first it might not seem to matter, but eventually as the ground shifts and that foundation can't take it...it starts to crumble- the cracks, well they start to shift the entire structure. The ceilings, the walls, until nothing is stable, until one day- it just _falls."_

"Well thank you for the construction lesson and the massage." She could see the flash of white teeth in Dean's carefully perfected rakish grin. In answer, she leaned over and ran her tongue along the outside of his exposed ear. "You are so delicious, Dean," she whispered.

"Thank you," He looked at her out of the corner of his vision. "I have to say this is the most awesome hostage situation I've ever been in." The light caught his cheek and the flash of the dimple there as he smiled. She ignored him.

"All that sexiness-that _face_ \- that _body-_ wrapped up in the damage of that psyche. It's like unwrapping a birthday present." She pushed her fingers roughly through his hair and then her hands slid down the sides of his half buttoned green Oxford. He made a grunting sound and tried to pull free.

"Maybe I'm not as damaged as you think I am."

"Oh, I have a suspicion that you're _more_ so than you I think you are." The hands traced to the front of the chest and suddenly she was leaning against his back. He felt her weight and the press of her breasts against him. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back slightly. A shiver ran down his body.

As he felt her form press to him, a foreboding anxiety he hadn't felt before rose up. For the hundredth time he tried to shift his position but now he couldn't.

"Let me go," he said softly.

"Oh, where's that Winchester bluster, that fight?"

"Let me go, bitch!" he bit out vehemently.

"That's more like it." She watched the stress lines around his mouth deepen.

Deftly, she was off of him again and sitting Indian style in front of his view, her tight black outfit shifting with her lithe movement. "You don't know what to think, do you?" She asked, a smile curving one corner of her shapely mouth. "Me... my form...you _want_ me. You can't help but want me and yet... you hate all that I am. Hunt my kind without mercy... and..." she made it obvious that her eyes were tracing the lines of his prone body. "You hate to be helpless. Oh, you hate it _so_ much."

She leaned forward and placed a hand on the curve of Dean's ass. He flinched from her touch. She moved her hand down between his legs. He sucked in a hissing breath and tried to pull away, but he was caught. She watched the color rise to his cheeks, his jaw tense, his stomach flex, the muscles of his thighs contract. He bit his lower lip with his perfect white teeth and closed his eyes.

"Oh poor Dean," she purred, exploring him more with her hand. Dean pressed his cheek against the concrete. He wanted out.

And there was a loud bang from somewhere in the distance. They both jumped at the unexpected loudness of it. She was on her feet in a moment's time. "Shit. I think your cavalry is here." She dashed out of his view with a preternatural swiftness. A second later, the sound of booted feet hit the hallway and a shout of "Dean?"

"Sam, I'm in here!" he replied.

Sam's tall form knelt beside him a minute later. One of Sam's large hands gripped the back of the shirt collar. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted.

Sam set to unstrapping one wrist, then the other.

He moved to the restraints on his ankles. Dean tried to push himself up into a sitting position and Sam hissed.

"Hey, stay still. You kicking your feet isn't helping."

Dean felt the ankle restraints drop and he was up on his knees in a minute and rubbing life into his wrists, panting.

Sam was studying him in that disconcerting way he had when he was worried.

"Dude, _what_?" Dean asked impatiently.

"You sure you're okay?" His younger brother's eyebrows knitted together. "I mean she had you for hours. I just..."

"You're disappointed I'm not covered in blood or something?"

"No! Of course not." Sam blushed and stood up, looking around the room.

Dean remained on his knees a moment more trying to get his body under control. He took a deep breath. He could feel Sam's eyes on him again. " _Jesus, Sammy!"_ He lurched to his feet with a wince.

"I think she got away." Sam said.

"No shit, sitting here hovering over me while she ran off."

Sam's look turned stormy. "You'd rather I left you tied up on the floor longer while I chased her?"

Dean looked abashed. "No," he rubbed his neck, grimaced. "I'm good. Come on let's get out of this hell hole." He spared a quick glance at the floor where he'd been tied and stalked off.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean, what is wrong with you?"

Dean's green eyes pulled focus. "Huh? Nothing."

"Come on," Sam sat on his shitty hotel room bed and faced his brother. "You've been acting weird for days."

"Jesus, Sammy, I'm fine." Dean shot back. "We're done with this conversation." He slouched into his leather jacket. "God, it's cold in this friggin' room."

Sam shook his head ruefully. "That demon did something to you." He stated it as a fact. A certainty.

Dean felt his hackles rise. "Oh my god, are you deaf?" He stood up.

"Talk to me," Sam said patiently.

Dean sighed in defeat and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Look Sam, I woke up. I was tied on the floor."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And what?" Dean shrugged.

"She didn't talk to you? She didn't lay a finger on you? Nothing?" Sam's tone grew annoyed.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say she didn't _touch_ me."

Sam looked confused. "Yes you did."

"I said she didn't _hurt_ me."

His younger brother blinked, wrinkled his nose. "Huh?"

"She touched me plenty. And she talked a lot. Bullshit. Typical manipulative whore bullshit. That's the worst thing about demons. You can't shut them up."

Sam's mouth fell open and the apprehension that lit his face was almost comical. "Dean, she didn't... you know?"

"Huh?" It took Dean a moment to register what his brother was thinking and suddenly his anxious expression made sense. "God, No! Jesus, Sam."

"Men can be raped too, you know."

Dean tried on a cocky smile. "Can't rape the willing."

"That's... not... funny."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Why do you have to turn this creepy?"

"Because it _is_ creepy! Tied down, being sexually assaulted by a demon-"

"I _wasn't_ assaulted. Groped a little."

 _"Groped?"_ Sam threw up his hands. "Were you a willing participant in this?"

Dean shrugged, pursed his lips. "No, not really."

"What you're describing is sexual assault, Dean."

"Oh my God, Sam!" Dean leaned down toward his brother and met his eyes with an unwavering glare. "Look, I've got a _lot_ of problems in my life. Being touched by a hot chick is not one of 'em."

Sam shook his head. "You're so broken. I can't even..."

"Oh, _I'm_ broken?" Dean's ire was up "I'm supposed to be crying to a therapist that some banging chick grabbed my ass?"

Sam snorted. "It's not about just that... It's about context." His expression turned earnest. "She's messing with you. Forcing you to participate in something you normally love but making sure you're helpless and relinquishing your power. Making you feel torn about it. It's clearly bothering you."

"Whatever, Dr. Ruth." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I can't even _talk_ to you. _Why_ are you like this? Why won't you let anyone help you?" Sam stood up.

"I don't know...maybe it's faults in my foundation." Dean shot back.

"What?"

"Apparently I'm so broken- _you_ figure it out. You seem to be the authority on ways I suck."

Sam shook his head and squared his shoulders towards the shorter man. "That's not fair."

Their eyes locked together for a moment.

"I never said you suck, Dean." Sam said stepping forward, hands on his hips in a silent gesture of challenge.

"Oh right. Broken. Yeah, that's better."

Sam made a frustrated grunt and ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. "See? This is what I mean." His brows knitted together. "I can't fix you. I can't help you-"

Dean turned on him suddenly. "Maybe I don't need to be _fixed,_ Sammy!" The yell was vehement, as if he'd been holding back something for a long time. "Maybe this is _me!_ _My_ heart! _My_ soul!" He tapped his chest. "Maybe I'm not broken it all, huh? Maybe this is just my personality. How I relate! Maybe it's what I gotta do to survive." His voice broke and he turned his head.

Sam took a physical step back from the intensity of Dean's tirade. His bafflement at the angry onslaught quickly gave way to compassion. "Dean," he said quietly. "Man... you hold everything in. I just want to help... I... god, man, I love you."

Dean looked at Sam's earnest expression. Uncertain about why his anger was being met with gentleness. It threw him off balance, made him feel oddly vulnerable. "Why, Sammy?"

Bafflement crossed Sam's handsome features again. "Are you kidding me?" His heart hurt for his brother. "Dean," he shook his head. Tears gathered in his eyes but didn't spill over. "You're my big brother."

Somehow the emotion in Sam caused Dean to reign in his own. His face became stoic, the green eyes more dispassionate. He swallowed hard and gave a small almost imperceptible nod. "I'm okay," he said. " 'M fine, Sam."

"It's not your fault, Dean."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Whatever happened to you. Whatever she did to you... _said_ to you- it's not your fault."

Dean smirked a little. "Course it is. Handsome guy like me... I mean what dark succubus is gonna resist, you know?"

Sam closed his eyes defeatedly. "Right," he muttered, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Of course." He dropped his hands to his side and looked at Dean. "Okay, well-"

"Hey," Dean squared his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help. Me being vague probably is making you think things are worse than they are... I jus-... she told me I was defective and you saying I'm broken set me off."

"They lie. Demons lie-"

"But it's the truth."

Sam looked hurt. "No..."

Dean held out a hand. "Shut up, Sammy."

Sam snapped his mouth shut and stood blinking at his older brother.

"She told me some stuff about myself and, uh, it's just been bothering me a little."

"That's _why_ she said it," Sam replied. "It's all bullshit."

"You see though," Dean ducked his head and smiled slightly. The smile did not touch his eyes. "It's not." He snorted. "It was true and I just didn't want it to be."

He sounded defeated.

"You're not broken, Dean. You're the strongest person I know."

Dean looked at him warily, but said nothing.

"Do you want to tell me anything else? I'm here to listen. I don't know if I can help you but I can listen."

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "Nah."

Sam caught his eye. "I'm sorry it had to happen to you."

"I told you it's fine."

"I'm still sorry." Sam's expression was so honest. So understanding. So utterly _genuine_ that Dean felt a shadow of pain swell in him at the intimacy of the moment.

"Yeah." Dean's gaze turned inward. "I'm sorry too." He walked to the bathroom and closed the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean swung Baby around a wide turn and listened to the loud rumble of her engine. He loved her so. He loved the way she responded to him, how her feel was so familiar, so welcome. How intimate he was with the way she moved, micro-adjustments of pedal and steering came to him without thinking. It was a language he spoke that came as natural to him as breathing. She spoke it with him. It was something that only they knew. Their own private code.

Sometimes when something was bothering him, he'd take Baby out and drive aimlessly to clear his mind. The miles rolled by them as Baby opened up on an old back road. He'd have to head back soon to get Sam, but for the moment, it was Dean and his Baby. Dean didn't understand why the memories of the demon were still bothering him. He had so much _worse_ happen in his young life. Hell, he'd had _men_ get handsy with him at bars. One didn't look like Dean Winchester did in his teens and frequent the types of places his dad took him without having some unpleasant exchanges. Dean had always popped someone in the mouth and it was over with. No harm, no foul. He never gave it a second thought. Not even once.

But _this_... this somehow bothered him. This had crawled into his psyche and stayed there. Which, he supposed, is exactly what the demon wanted. _I'm trying to get into the cracks of your psyche and play there. Play there until I force those cracks to widen. A knee forcing his thighs open, his heart suddenly hammering wildly in his chest. Pinned down. Unable to move. Some part of him terrified, violated. Another responding to her touches the way he always did with an attractive woman._

Broken. He was broken. She knew it. Hell, _Sam_ knew it. He could feel his palms start to sweat on the steering wheel. He wished that Baby could take him away from himself sometimes. Sometimes she did when he got lost in the feel of the '67 Impala on the open road.

Cracks in his foundation.

 _Poor simple Dean._

Simple Dean. He wasn't smart like Sammy. He _knew_ he wasn't smart like Sam. Sometimes he felt like a moron as Sam read, synthesized, and digested information before he had a chance to comprehend a sentence of it. All Dean recalled was constantly being the new kid at school. He showed up having missed so much of the year, having missed so much of the varying curriculum from state-to-state that he eventually tuned out what was being taught. Until his father pulled him aside and _made_ him memorize his multiplication tables. Which, of course, Sam, four years his junior, learned by osmosis observing his older brother while Dean sat frustrated writing out equations again and again.

Dean could take apart and rebuild anything. He was glib and quick on his feet. But smart? He didn't think so, even if some part of his mind insisted that he was- even as select teachers had told him he was clever but he didn't apply himself. Even as he heard Bobby say, "You're too dumb to know how _smart_ you are, you idjit!" Dean's lip curled up into a half smile at the memory.

Cracks in his foundation. _The ceilings, the walls, until nothing is stable, until one day-it just falls._ _Crumbles._ Is that what was bound to happen to him? Would he eventually topple over from stress like poorly stacked Lincoln Logs? Even now it felt like some days he was barely holding it together. He missed his father. He felt abandoned, betrayed even though he knew. He _knew_ whatever reason Dad disappeared for was a good one. Was what _had_ to be done. He _knew_ it. But he was still scared. Still felt like he had the responsibility to hold Sammy together. Still felt like he had no clue what they were doing. Still felt like a shitty imitation of a hunter-him and Sam just fucking _winging_ it day after day. Pretending to have a fucking clue. Any fucking clue whatsoever. Getting hurt more often than not from their sheer inexperience.

But he was Dean Winchester. He was as solid as a brick house... with a cracked foundation.

 _Faults. Crumbling._ A foundation that would shift overtime...it already had. Already he felt less sure of himself, less steady than he had just a few months ago. Having Sammy back with him felt right but so much else felt wrong. Here he was coming half unglued over being fondled by a woman he would have slept with in a minute if circumstances had been different. It was pathetic. He was _sweating_ for god's sake.

How did she know much so much about him? Was he that transparent? Or were all his scars on display for the world to see? Did demons have mind-reading abilities? Had this one been following them without him knowing it? He didn't know which possibility was more disturbing. They all upset him slightly.

He and Sam had spent the better part of a week trying to track her back down, but she was gone. Disappeared into the ether. Just like the other demons.

 _The house burning. Mom gone. 'Save Sammy.' Jessica burning._ The images came in rapid succession. _A demon following him. Dad missing._ It felt overwhelming suddenly.

He opened Baby up, felt her respond beneath him like a thoroughbred let out of the starting gate. He missed his father deeply. Achingly. He had no one to share his grief with. Sam didn't understand, didn't share the same bond. Never had. Never would.

It made him feel sorry for his brother. Dean had had his mother for however short a time and he'd had Dad too.

Sammy. Sammy had neither, really. He'd driven Dad away, created a rift so deep it could never be bridged and Mom was gone before he'd even had a memory of her. Sam had Dean. That was it. Dean was keenly aware of it- as he always had been. Though whether or not Sam was-he didn't know.

 _Your brother has one weakness-you. But you, Dean. Oh there are so many cracks in your foundation its hard to know where to begin._

Baby ate the miles and before Dean realized it, he'd been driving for an hour. He needed to turn around to get Sam. He pulled the Impala into a small dirt turnaround spot, just off the shoulder of the asphalt and cut the engine. She sat there in a cloud of dust and Dean swung the door open. He looked out at the scenery. Miles of country nothingness, flat, brown. He stood up, stretched his legs and back. He liked the solitude. It felt good to be alone. "Just you and me, Baby." He leaned his back against the door and tucked his hands into the pockets of his worn blue jeans. The breeze ruffled his hair and set his brass amulet swinging. He squinted against the wind and took a deep breath.

 **TBC...**

 **Please drop me a review and thank you to you few who have! You make my day!**


	4. Chapter 4

Dean stayed there like that for the span of several minutes, shifting his stance so that his feet were shoulder length apart. Balanced, stable. His boots on the dusty ground felt good. Solid. Dry earth beneath him. He could feel the Impala's door smooth and hard against his back. Good. This was good. Real and firm and solid. He took another deep breath, concentrated on washing away the remnants of the dark thoughts plaguing his mind. Sometimes he could do this and feel pure again. Clean. Not tainted from all his sins and experiences. He was a killer. He knew it. And even as there was one side of him that embraced it- _longed_ for it- craved the adrenaline, there was another part of him that he kept tucked away that wasn't like that at all. Another part that saw things through his sense of humor and adventure. It was the part of him that took care of Sammy. Loved his dad. Doted on Baby.

The Dean that would do anything to ease someone's suffering. Throw himself into any danger to save someone. Dean the Caretaker. Dean the Protector. Dean the Savior. The part of him that was always at odds with Dean the Killer. Dean the Warrior. Dean the Hunter. He missed the softer parts of himself. Parts he had to bury further and further to muddle through the day.

A memory tugged at the surface. _Dean's finger on the trigger. The deer lined up in his sights. Bobby watching him expectantly. Silently. Even as a twelve year old he was a good shot. He could have taken it. Hours traipsing through the woods, tracking, searching. Waiting- culminating here. Here. He hesitated. Hesitated. Watched the deer pick its head up, rotate its ears. Flick its white tail. He could snuff it out. Just like that._

 _"Take the shot, boy." Bobby mouthed. Dean hesitated. Sam hesitated. In the end it was Bobby who dropped the young buck with one precise shot. He looked at the two young boys with a mixture of annoyance and reproach, but underneath that in the blue eyes was affection. "You two girls can't shoot a freaking dear."_

 _"I didn't want to kill it, Uncle Bobby."_

And now he killed monsters in human form without a second thought. Pulled the trigger and ended lives all the time. He was a hunter through and through down to his boots. But he was a pale imitation of his father even though he tried with every fibre of his being to emulate John Winchester. Deep inside he knew he didn't have the mettle. Didn't have the iron will that ran through John's soul. ' _God, Dad come back. I need you. I'm scared. I'm in over my head.'_ He wanted his leader back. His decision maker. His rock.

And suddenly, Dean missed his mother. The idea struck him as inane. Stupid. He hadn't had a mother since he was four...but oh, how he wanted her now. He felt certain that if Mary were there she could take those cracks in the foundation and shore them up. Brace the structure. Patch the hairline cracks in the walls because Dean was pretty sure that that's what mothers did.

He wanted to hug her and have her tell him it was alright. That he was doing fine. Touch his cheek, brush his hair back. Absolve him of his sins. Dad could never do those things. He could beam with pride. Share a beer. Thump him on the back, but that wasn't what he needed right now. Dean closed his eyes. _Breathe. Breathe. Its okay, Dean._ He told himself. _It's okay._.. _No it wasn't. It was 10 shades of fucked up._ But if he could just get past this rough spot, find his footing, find his father, it would all get easier. It _had_ to. It couldn't _stay_ this bad.

For now he had Sammy. That was okay. In reality, it had been him and Sam for so many years. He could do this. As long as he had his brother...and he liked having his brother with him. There were genuine moments when they were together when Dean felt... _happy_.

 _Sam._ Dean reluctantly got into the Impala, slammed her door and leaned his head back a minute with a deep exhale. He turned the keys in the ignition. He had to head back and pick up his brother. His best friend. His only friend, really. The minute he got cell reception he heard his phone ping rapidly as a succession of text messages hit his inbox. Too bad. It was just going to have to wait. He accelerated with a reflective smile.

* * *

Sam looked less than pleased when Dean pulled into the motel parking lot an hour later. The younger Winchester was sitting on the sidewalk outside their motel room, their duffel bags at his feet. He caught sight of the Impala and his face darkened like a thundercloud. Dean pulled up with a cheerful smile and swung open the door.

"Hey, Sammy!"

"Where have you been?" He pulled himself to his feet looking momentarily imposing, his already broad chest puffed out in anger. But his tone had an edge of petulance like it always did. "I've been _standing_ here for an _hour,_ Dean. We were supposed to be out of the room by eleven."

"Standing? Really? Looks like you were sitting to me."

Sam shot him a warning glare. "Don't."

"Oh come on, Sam. You could have gone and gotten a beer."

"No, Dean, I couldn't. I left my wallet in the glove compartment."

"Well who's fault is that, dipshit?"

Sam didn't answer him. Instead he hurled the bags into the backseat.

"Hey, hey don't take it out on my baby."

"Dean, I'm really mad at you right now. Why didn't you at least answer your phone?" They were facing each other over the shiny black hood of the Impala.

"I didn't have any service."

"Where did you go?"

"I went for a drive."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "A drive? You realize we have a twelve hour drive ahead of us today, right?"

"Sorry, Sammy. Sometimes it's gotta just be me and my baby." Dean tried his rakish grin again.

Sam glared at him and ducked into the car, slamming the door. "You could have at least left a fucking note."

Dean sighed and climbed back into the driver's seat. He closed the door and turned on the engine and rested his arm over the top of the seat while he craned his neck to look behind him as he backed out. "I can tell you're going to be a barrel of sunshine on this trip." He quipped.

Sam's jaw muscles jerked silently.

"Oh, come on Sammy." Dean darted his eyes sideways to evaluate his brother as they pulled out onto the road. "It was only a few hours."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "You've been doing this shit to me since we were kids, Dean." The anger was simmering underneath his words even though his voice was calm. "'Here Sam, here's five dollars. Get a coke. I'll be back in a few minutes...and you'd leave me there for _two hours_ while you did God-knows-what with some girl."

Dean felt a pang of guilt.

"Or 'here, Sam, wait in the car while I use the bathroom- _for an hour._ You know what? Now I'm an adult and I don't have to put up with this crap. Next time you take off, you tell me where you're going and how long you'll be gone."

Dean felt a rise of defensive of anger. "You're not my wife, Sam, and I don't have to tell you shit about where I'm going or what I'm doing with my time if I don't want to."

"You're so selfish sometimes. It's unbelievable."

Dean swung the car off the road and skidded to a halt so abruptly that Sam almost slid into the dashboard. "What the hell, Dean?!"

"I'm selfish?!" Dean got out of the car and Sam followed suit. "You want to go at this now, you son of a bitch, because I'm ready!"

Sam glared at him. "Knock it off with the dramatics, Dean."

Dean strode over to where Sam stood like an enraged lion. The elder Winchester's chest was puffed out, arms at his side, stance at the ready. Radiating conflict. Full fight mode. There was no talking him down when he was like this. He knew it. Sam knew it. Dean's pain had been looking for an outlet and Sam was as good an outlet as any.

"Seriously, you're going to throw a punch at me because I asked you to leave a note?" Sam's disbelieving tone lit Dean's anger further.

"How dare you call me selfish? After what I've sacrificed for you- done for you your whole life! You never went hungry because of _me_!" Dean jabbed a finger in his own chest. "I _lied_ for you. Cheated for you! _Stole_ for you- to take care of you! It shouldn't have been my responsibility- I was a kid myself!"

"I didn't _ask_ to be your responsibility. That was Dad's fault. Blame _him._ Take your anger out on _him_ when we find _him."_ Sam's tone was measured. "I'm just asking you to send me a freaking _text_. It's not that hard." There was a pause. "This doesn't have to be a crisis- except, of course, if you want to make it one."

Oh boy, did Dean want to make it one. He lunged for Sam's collar. The taller man sidestepped and deflected, sending Dean banging into the side of the Impala.

 _"Sonofabitch!_ " Dean straightened himself and glared at Sam. He could see by Sam's body language that he had finally pushed him far enough to get a rise out of his placid little brother. Sam clenched his fists at his side. His nostrils flared. It was so fucking on.

 **tbc...**

 **Reviews are awesome! Please leave one...it makes me so happy!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to NightReader22, Catz Chaos, and freetobescary for the consistent feedback on this. You guys rock. And to anyone else who left a review. Love the feedback. Thank you. Please feed the muse...and boy this scene was fun to write. I got to overdose on Youtube videos of the boys coming to blows. I highly recommend "Dueling Winchesters-2 Cellos." Look it up. It's awesome.**

"Come on, little brother." Dean motioned him forward with his fingers, hands up defensively. "Come on. Take a shot. You know you want to."

Sam cracked his neck to the side and rolled his shoulders. As he stepped forward Dean realized that his "little" brother might just knock him on his ass. Sam was six-foot-four of pure muscle. The kid was in his early twenties but he still seemed to keep growing, if not in height then in sheer mass.

"Come on, bitch, hit me."

Sam swung at him and Dean ducked under the outstretched arm, grabbed Sam's loose Carhartt jacket and used it as leverage to swing him sideways as he swept a foot under the long legs. Sam slammed into the Impala, hand grabbing onto the hood for purchase with a loud hollow thud.

"Don't dent my car, Sammy."

"I'm going to dent your _head_ when I get a hold of you, Dean."

Dean huffed. "Sure you are." He was up on the balls of his feet, ready to move, when Sam dove for him again. He danced out of his brother's way. "Float like a butterfly... sting like a b-" his taunt cut off when Sam grabbed him by the arm and snapped him sideways like a dog with a chew toy.

"Fall like a tree..." Sam quipped with a dimpled smile as Dean landed on his ass in the dirt. He rolled with the momentum and was up on his feet again in the blink of an eye. The stinging pain that lanced up his hip with the fall only served to piss him off further. He limped forward a step and shook the numbness out of his leg. Sam's eyes darted to the injury, concern furrowed his brow and in that instant, Dean rushed him, using his body weight like a battering ram. Sam was pushed back several steps with the blow, but didn't lose his balance completely due to his sheer size. He grabbed Dean's shoulders and they grappled in a tangled mass of angry Winchester, each testing for an opening.

They were fairly evenly matched and they knew each other's moves like lifelong dance partners. They could predict what the other's intentions were in the micro-seconds before they happened. Dean finally got ahold of a fistful of Sam's hair, tugged viciously, and bent him double while bringing a knee up to crack him in the ribs. He was rewarded with a _whoof_ of air escaping Sam's lungs.

The move was dirty. Unfair. He knew it. He brought his knee up again and this time Sam grabbed his leg and pulled him off balance. He almost went on his ass again, but managed to save himself by grabbing Sam's jacket.

Sam brought his arms up between the hold and broke it while he aimed a kick at Dean's midsection. He connected solidly with his older brother's torso and sent him flying back like a marionette. Dean regained his balance and spat out the blood that had begun to pool in his mouth from an errant elbow that had caught him in the lip.

Sam backed off a step and Dean saw his expression change. "Come on, Dean. Let it go."

Dean aimed a punch at his brother that Sam barely dodged. The second one connected with Sam's jaw and dazed him for a minute. Sam was ready for the third one, and he grabbed Dean's arm and twisted it behind his back in an arm lock and slammed him against the Impala hard enough to rattle Dean's teeth.

Dean tried to twist out of the hold until Sam deftly bent Dean's wrist into a wrist lock and dug his thumb into a pressure point that almost made his older brother's knees buckle. Sam pressed his weight into Dean's back and leaned his mouth close to his brother's ear. _"Stop it!"_ He hissed.

"Get off!" Dean snarled.

"What is wrong with you?! You're acting like we're in a death match."

There was no answer as Dean stood immobilized, his cheek pressed against the cool metal of the car roof. He was panting. Sam's grip loosened incrementally and Dean used the moment to reach back blindly and stomp his heel down as hard as he could on Sam's foot. Sam's steel-toed work boots made the gesture mostly pointless, and Sam reapplied the pressure.

It felt like his wrist was on fire. He gritted his teeth.

"Knock it off!" his brother's voice was a growl in his ear. "We get hurt enough on hunts. We don't need to be hurt in drunken brawls among ourselves as well."

"Not drunk, Sammy." Dean gritted out.

"Oh great. So that just means you're psycho _without_ any help." A pause punctuated by their breathing. "What is going on with you?"

"Let me go!"

"Oh yeah, so you can bum rush me again? No thanks."

Another pause. Dean's mid-back was starting to cramp from the unnatural arch his taut muscles were pulled into.

"What is going on with you?" Sam applied a little pressure to his hold and Dean yelled involuntarily. "Spill it!"

"Okay, Sammy! You gotta not break my wrist, dude!"

Sam released him and Dean turned around to face his brother, shaking the feeling back into his arm. "That wrist lock is nasty."

"I learned it at a martial arts class I took at Stanford."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Effective."

Sam put his hands on his hips. "What is wrong with you?"

"Your face," Dean quipped.

"Oh no- we are _not_ doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Deflecting. Evading. Something's bothering you. You need to tell me what. You need to tell me why you'd rather knock my teeth in then tell me why you're hurting." Sam's eyes took on that concerned look again. Dean hated it. It said, ' _my poor broken brother. I absolve you from your douchey actions because you are so pathetic I can excuse them.'_

"I am _not_ hurting, Sam."

Sam snorted, shook his head with a humorless smile. "Yeah. Yeah that's totally obvious."

"This coming from the poster boy of well-adjusted."

Sam shrugged. "You know, Dean, that's the difference between us. I don't pretend to be okay. I'm still not over Jessica. I'm not sure when I will be. If you weren't so allergic to feelings I'd probably talk to you about it more... This isn't about me though. It's about you. What's wrong?"

Dean kicked one of the tires of the Impala. "Nothing, Sam!" He realized how stupid it sounded as soon as it left his mouth. He followed it up with "I don't know." As he said it, he felt the fight go out of him. All the pressure released at once like a deflating balloon. His shoulders sagged at the sudden adrenaline let down. "I don't know."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Yep, still don't own them. Still have no money.**

 **A lot of you were asking 'where is the comfort?!' So friends, I give you...comfort. At last. Comfort Winchester Style. Please drop a review and let me know if you enjoyed the story. Thank you so much for reading! This is now finished, so I'm off to work on Locking Horns.**

"Okay," Sam said, taking a step closer, slowly, like Dean was a stray dog that he thought might bite. "Okay. I believe you. It's okay."

"What about our _lives_ is okay?" Dean's eyes were wounded.

"No. No you're right about that. It's not okay... But it's okay to be confused... I don't know what the fuck we're doing either. But we're in this together, you know, like we've always been. Me and you." He offered a weak smile. "I got your back, man."

"I know you do, Sammy."

Sam seemed to be in full 'earnest mode' now. It was familiar and genuine, but it always made Dean feel a twinge of discomfort because it preceded awkward talks laced with feelings. Sam's bangs had fallen into his eyes, making him resemble a giant sheep dog. Dean swore that hair was going to swallow his brother whole someday. He often wondered if Sam kept it long as a silent _fuck you_ to their father and his military training.

Dean turned and put a hand on Baby's sleek black exterior, grounding himself in the feel of her- solid, smooth. He could feel his brother's eyes on him. Boring into him. Studying him. Begging him to tell. Tell what? How could he even _begin_ to vocalize the tangled web of thoughts and emotions that had been playing through his mind? What _should_ he share with him? He sure as hell didn't want to share all of it.

"So let me in, dude. What's going on?"

"Can we just go? I'll tell you next time I plan on disappearing for hours."

He could hear Sam's boots on the dirt as he closed the gap between them. He was close now. So close. Sam craned his neck to catch Dean's eye. "Hey."

Dean looked away, jaw tight. _Don't touch me. Don't touch me._

A second later Sam's large, warm hand was on his shoulder. "Hey," the words were patient. "Its okay."

"I didn't mean to be a dick. Just needed to clear my head. Baby is good for that."

"It's forgiven. It's fine. What's on your mind?"

What _wasn't_ on his mind?

"I don't know why it's still bothering me, Sam." He stood staring at Baby's black roof.

A pause. "The demon?"

Dean nodded.

Sam snorted. "Look, I know it doesn't seem like anything in the long list of traumatizing shit we've been through - but Dean - that doesn't mean it's not a big deal." His hand drifted down to rest on Dean's shoulder blade. "You know the saying 'straw that broke the camel's back?'"

Dean nodded silently.

"Maybe this is your straw, you know?"

Damn, the kid was smart sometimes.

"I'm not a camel, Sam."

Another half - amused snort. "I know. You're an ass." Sam didn't remove his hand and it seemed like an anchor: at once grounding him and at the same time pulling him under. He was about to shrug it off when Sam instinctively moved it, rubbing a light circle over his mid-back. "I get it. There are things that bother me sometimes and I don't understand why."

Dean turned his head to look at him, his elbows still resting on the roof. "Like what?"

Sam removed his hand and leaned his back against Baby with a shrug. "I don't know. Random stupid things."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Sammy. Don't be a tease. Don't pretend I'm getting some and then change your mind."

Sam's teeth flashed in a smile and he shook his head. His gaze dropped to his boots. Dean looked back out over the hood. He didn't know why but somehow it always seemed easier to talk to Sam when they weren't facing each other. When he didn't have to look at Sam's expressions and wonder what his brother was thinking. When he didn't have to look at those prying eyes and see Sam feeling sorry for him as much as he felt sorry for himself.

"I've never been in that situation with a woman before - you know - where I was afraid of what she might do."

He saw Sam nod in his peripheral vision. "I've been tied up before. I know what that feels like."

"I have too, but this was different." Dean stopped, seemed to shift gears. "Hell," A wicked grin crossed his features. "I've been tied up _by_ a woman before... didn't bother me one bit."

Sam's dimples flashed and he heard a bemused snort. "Why am I _not_ surprised?"

"Foxy brunette- down near New Orleans - she had me trussed up so tight-"

"Dean, please ease up on images that will make me need brain bleach."

"I live to make you uncomfortable, Sammy." His tone was playful.

"I know you do," Sam replied.

There was another long pause while Dean felt the silence dragging the story out of him. "This was different though."

"Well yeah. It's not play. In the other scenario you're still in control. You're not helpless."

 _Oh you hate to be helpless. You hate it so much._

Dean felt his heart speed up. His mouth went dry. What the hell was he supposed to tell Sam? It still sounded so trivial even to himself. _Nothing_ happened. Well next to nothing. Why had her words thrown him sideways so easily? Why had her touch set his skin crawling and simultaneously sent shivers of pleasure up his spine? What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Yeah I guess. I just..." He saw Sam turn marginally toward him. He knew Dean was having trouble telling him what he felt. Dean could sense it. He banged his fists ineffectually against the car roof. Not hard enough to dent- just hard enough for a hollow thud that punctuated his frustration. He pushed himself away from the car, shoulders rounded. Defeated. "I don't even know." He shoved his hands in his pockets and finally met Sam's eyes. "It can't _stay_ this bad, can it Sammy?" He heard how pathetically child-like he sounded when he said it. He didn't clarify what he meant, he knew Sam would know.

" _This_ won't stay this bad... no." Sam said comfortingly. "You just have to give yourself some time to process it and cut yourself a break... as for Dad... We'll find Dad."

Dean nodded. That was what he needed to hear. "I'm sorry I dragged you back into this."

"The fucking fire demon dragged me back into this Dean, not you." He locked gazes with his brother. "Don't you _dare_ blame yourself for that. Don't you _dare_ do that to yourself. If you hadn't been there to drag me out, I'd be dead." There was so much heat to Sam's words that they were almost angry.

Dean felt his eyes start to water. He cleared his throat. "Someone had to save your dumb ass."

Sam reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Yeah," he squeezed hard before he let go. "Want to go grab some lunch and a beer?"

Dean smiled, relief flooding through him. "That sounds awesome."

They both settled into the car. Dean realized that his cut lip was starting to throb a little, he glanced at himself in the rear view mirror. He didn't look too worse for wear, happily. His hair was mussed. His lip a little swollen. That was it.

"Don't let your own mind drive you crazy, dude." Sam said.

"I got you to do that, Sasquatch."

Sam smiled at him and it was such an open, honest smile that Dean felt his heart twist with affection. That smile was such a rarity for Sam. It always had been. But it made him happy when he saw it, like a small slant of Sun on of February afternoon.

"Come on, Dean. Get it in gear. I'm hungry."

Dean responded to the playful tone with one of his own. "I _so_ would have kicked your ass if you weren't taking secret wrist locking ninja classes in college."

Sam laughed. "That is exactly what it was called. Ninja 101. I heard there were 20 people enrolled in the class - but I never saw them."

Baby roared ahead in a spray of dirt and spinning tires.

 _Splits in his heart. Deep ones that went all the way through. Cracks in his smile - hairline. He could still hide those. Faults in the foundation - stress where the concrete would shift with the changing seasons. .. but deep in the structure - between the four walls- stood a support beam- steel, sturdy...holding strong, bracing with silent vigil. Sam Winchester. The structure could never fully collapse if he was there. The demon bitch didn't know about that._

 **Finis.**


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